


Black Market Favors

by Lyl



Category: Burn Notice, Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spy, Community: crossovers100, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyl/pseuds/Lyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael calls in a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Market Favors

_A spy will meet many people in their line of work - civilians, government officials, law enforcement and other spies. Out of the list, other spies are the deadliest. They come in different shades of dangerous, ranging from wanting to kill you, wanting something from you to wanting nothing to do with you. Most spies will stay out of your business if you stay out of theirs. They have a job to do just like you. So, you stay away from the ones who want to kill you, you play around with the ones wanting something from you, and you ignore the ones who don't care about you._

However, it's not always that easy. So over the course of a covert op, when you come into contact with another spy, and if you don't have conflicting objectives, what most often happens is a mutual agreement to leave each other alone. Assuming, at least, that the other guy actually recognizes you.

~!~

"Surveillance teams are getting younger," said Fiona, sipping her drink, "and greener."

Micheal kept his gaze fixed on either Fiona or the busy street in front of the cafe to avoid looking directly at the young man who was doing a bad job of watching them.

"Maybe he finds you intriguing," Michael suggested, his lips twitching.

"Maybe he finds you intriguing," retorted Fiona with a flick of her eyebrow.

"Keep an eye on him, Fi. Having amateurs around is never a good thing," added Michael, motioning for the check. He'd been under surveillance almost constantly since he'd been burned and had come to expect a certain level of skill from his watchers. The sudden downgrade in help had him worried.

~!~

_Collecting favors is one of the most underrated activities in the intelligence world. There are no classes and no instructors to tell you how to collect favors from people with influence or information; it's more of a 'learn as you go' process. There are different levels of favors owed to you, based on the person and the circumstances. Ridding a terrorist cell of a police informer is a different level of obligation than, say, saving someone's life after they piss off the wrong warlord by flirting with his wife._

You also learn 'who' to solicit favors from, and owe favors to. A corrupt border guard is just as likely to sell you out as provide you with intel. A fellow spy, on the other hand, is often one of the best to cultivate. Having an intelligence operative from another country owe you a favor or two for saving his life is worth your weight in gold.

~!~

Michael would like to say that the first sign of trouble was his apartment door being ajar, but that would mean he was getting soft and ignoring his instincts. Something had been bugging him since the kid in the cafe.

He wasn't too worried about entering his place, because any competent assassin would have closed the door. The sight of Ezra Standish standing in his apartment should have surprised him more than it did. He hadn't seen the other man in over four years, since just before Standish had gone freelance and hooked up with Chris Larabee and company.

"Long way from Munich, Ezra," he greeted, closing the door behind him. Michael didn't bother with his regular sweep for bugs, trusting Standish to have done it; the only person more paranoid than a spy is a burned spy. Or Ezra Standish.

"South Beach has its charm," replied Standish, his southern accent as smooth as ever. They both excelled at changing accents to suit their purpose, so the fact that Ezra had dropped his let Michael know how highly he was regarded.

"I was wondering who set that kid on me at the cafe. You recruiting out of high school now?" asked Micheal as he crossed to the kitchen, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge.

"In house training," replied Ezra, the smile remaining on his face. "He serves his purpose."

"And what might that be?"

"You were focused on him, and missed the rooftop spotter and the gentleman across the street."

"Moustache and sunglasses in the silver Cavalier," said Micheal, smiling slightly as he shook his head. "You haven't lost your touch, Ezra."

"Neither have you, apparently." replied Standish. "I had wondered..."

"Because of the burn notice."

"You, Mr Westen, have become one of the biggest mysteries in the intelligence community."

"How so?"

"You're one of the best. You did your job well and with style, treating it like the profession it is."

Michael bowed his head in thanks for the compliment. Spies rarely praised each other. It was seen as giving your opponent an advantage.

"The new generation treat it like a game; too ready to start shooting at the slightest provocation," added Standish.

"Too many James Bond movies," Michael agreed.

"And then your own people burned you - claimed you were selling secrets and working for the other side," continued Standish. "Anyone who has had the opportunity to work with you knows it for the lie it is."

"So what brings you to Miami, Ezra?" asked Michael, tamping down on the urge to question him more. Ezra Standish didn't talk about things he didn't want to, and rarely volunteered information. The fact that he was in essence telling Michael that he still had some friends on the inside meant Standish wanted him to know it, too. None of them would put themselves on the line for him, but they'd be more agreeable if he approached them, which was what the message implied.

"You invited me," he said, "or have you forgotten?"

"That was over a month ago," Michael reminded him dryly, remembering the coded message he'd sent out trying to pull in a few favors he was owed.

"I like to be fashionably late," said Standish, smiling what Michael liked to call his 'shit-eating grin'.

Michael let it pass, knowing better than to antagonize the person who could best help him.

~!~

_There are rules about favors, however. Owing and collecting from another spy is a personal transaction. You don't pass the marker along to someone else, and you don't talk about it to anyone. And you never renege. You start turning down people when they come to collect on the favours you owe them, and your cred in the international community goes straight down the toilet. It's a two-way street that must be clear of obstacles at all times._

Knowing when to collect on what someone owes you is also a delicate balance. You don't want to waste it on something you could bribe, blackmail or steal to get. Pulling in a favour is a last resort and usually for something big.

Asking for cash is a serious no-no; a breach of etiquette if you will. Cash is easy to get; information and cooperation are harder. If you can't scrounge up some cash from somewhere, you don't deserve to be in the game.

~!~

"You know why I called?" asked Michael, focusing his attention on his blueberry yogurt. Just because he needed help, didn't mean he had to like it. Having to call on the people who owed him to solve a problem was admitting he couldn't do it on his own, something no spy liked to admit.

"I do," said Standish, hands in his pockets. "There was a great deal of discussion among my compatriots after I received your message, trying to determine how much aid should be supplied."

"And?" he asked, meeting Standish's gaze.

The silence stretched between them as he took his time answering.

"We'll help in whatever way we can."

Michael kept his face straight as he nodded his head in acknowledgment and thanks, before realizing what Standish had said.

"'We'?"

"When we did a cursory investigation into your situation, a disturbing pattern emerged," explained Standish. "You're not the first to have been deliberately burned based on fictional exploits, but you are the first of the elite."

"Someone's recruiting."

"That does seem to be the current hypothesis," agreed Standish. "If so, it is a deplorable practice that must be stopped before other factions take on a similar recruitment strategy."

That, Michael agreed with. The best intelligent operatives were good at the job because they believed in what they did and who they worked for. If you start taking away their choices, the level of skill decreases, as does their usefulness. If the practice caught on - if enough of the top spies were forcibly recruited, if there was no longer any choice is who you worked for - the intelligence world may be facing a group of rebel agents who knew all their secrets.

"It was decided that aid should be given in any capacity, until this issue is resolved," Standish continued.

"All of you?" Michael asked, surprised.

"You call in a marker on one of us, you get the whole lot," he said, smiling ruefully. Michael had to wonder about that, because Ezra Standish had been just like Michael was, a solo agent. He occasionally took on a student or a partner, but he did his best work alone. Though, the more time he spent working with Sam and Fiona, the more he realized how much he enjoyed having a team of people he could trust to watch his back. Michael suspected that's what Ezra had found out four years earlier when he'd decided to join up with Chris Larabee and his crew. In some circles, they were the stuff of legends.

~!~

_Knowing when to collect on a favour is just part of the process. You also need to get the right person for the job. Asking a Libyan agent to get some information on a Chinese heroine shipment is like asking the postman to help paint your house. However, when you need information on who burned you, the best person to go to is the one who has contacts in every intelligence agency and terrorist group on the globe._

And if that person just happens to belong to a group of ex-Special Forces/ex-spooks that come as a package....then you're golden.

~!~

"I should tell you that one of our group has a favor owed by you, Mr Westen," Standish said, moving a step closer. "We considered using it to cancel my debt."

"But you didn't," said Michael, furiously going through his mental rolodex of people he owed - owed enough to cancel out Standish's marker.

"We are a group - a family of sorts - and everything is shared. What is owed by one is owed by all, and the same in reverse." Michael could understand that sense of loyalty and trust, as he was starting to develop it with Sam and Fiona. They had reached a point where keeping score of who owed who was moot; where the balance sheet was incomprehensible. Reaching that point with a colleague - or six, in Ezra's case - conferred a special type of respect in their world. It was rare to find that kind of trust among people who make a living at trusting no one. "We decided to aid you in your quest and retain the marker for a future need."

"You took a big risk meeting me here," Michael said at last, changing the topic. "I've got the FBI all over me, among others."

"I never leave anything to chance, Mr. Westen," replied Standish, moving towards the door. "That young man you set the lovely Ms Glenanne after will lead her - along with the surveillance team you lost - to a church on the other side of Miami. He'll poke around, look in a few bibles, perhaps even go to confession before making a few cryptic calls on the nearest payphone. I fear the surveillance teams will be kept quite busy for a time."

"You've always had style, Ezra."

Standish put on his sunglasses and smiled before he left, leaving Michael alone.

He felt oddly lighter as the door closed.

Maybe he'd take Fiona dancing tonight. She always did love to salsa.

END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Next Move](https://archiveofourown.org/works/102125) by [Lyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyl/pseuds/Lyl)




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